


Blake's 7 Wordplay Compilation

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Compilation What Compilation, Divided by a Common Tongue, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Humor, Puns & Word Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-11 22:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/803969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Compilation of assorted short B7 fic with the common theme of word play, including puns, confusion caused between English and American*, and possibly other forms of word-crack.</p><p>Depends on what I find when I turn over the old folder and shake. It's a mixed bag, most of it is Gen, but chapter 5 goes really a bit beyond innuendo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary Sue Meets the Language Barrier

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WAY back in the day of Xexoxing Zine Dinosaurs, I tried really, really hard to not have my Americanisms show up in my Blake's 7 fic, because it's a BBC media and at that time if you didn't match the country of origin's spelling and word usage someone would be sure to point it out and be upset. My primary source of English as written by English folk was 'England's Finest Logic Problems' and secondary was the British Empire contingent of the Adult B7 mailing list.
> 
> One day I took my list of dissimilarities and turned it into a fic. Waste not, want not.

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

The tail of the comet Halle-Bopp spread as it neared Earth's sun. An infinitesimal particle of a supremely rare anti-matter Quarkoid escaped the tail, its peculiar Color, Charm, and Spin inexorably drawn toward a calmly rotating blue-green planet aswarm with semi-evolved primates. If the particle had possessed a particle of sense, it would undoubtedly have elected to continue the cruise. 

But it was only a particle.

Something, some unique confluence of sub-atomic excitation, atmospheric impurities, and radiations, pulled the hapless particle, like iron filings to a magnet. It had a destiny to fulfill. 

It beat its way through the Van Allen Belt, then the stratosphere. Down, down, down went the particle, past satellites, past fluffy white clouds, past sleek jet liners and flocks of honking geese. It was momentarily detoured by a tornado, but fought free and corrected its course. 

North America. The United States. 

Nearing its destination, it burned a trail of glory. A very tiny trail of glory, true, but if you could have seen it, you would have been impressed.

It arrived. It struck a cathode ray tube, which was currently in a state of some excitation (the TV was on), bounced out and was trapped for a millisecond or so in an electronic web of information (the computer was also on, and hooked to the internet), traveled around the world a few million times, picking up information as it went, and frantically fled back to its origin point on the web, struggling to escape the static electricity of the super-cooled liquid surface (glass). With a final supreme effort it shot out of the computer monitor, impinged on the slightly blue-tinted contact lens floating in the left eye of the computer's user, zipped through and on into a sludgy mass of pinkish-gray matter. Whereupon all the separate pieces of information it had acquired suddenly merged into a fantastic reality, destroying the absolutely unique, and truly awe-inspiring particle which could have cured all the world's ills if it had been properly utilized.

The particle shrugged its non-existent shoulders and thought, 'oh, well,' as it fizzled out.

Mary Sue appeared on the flight deck of the Liberator. She looked around, and blinked rather stupidly, looked up to make sure that she wasn't on a sound stage, pinched herself to make sure she wasn't dreaming, and then happily accepted the miracle as her due. All those years of scrimping and sacrificing, hoping to save enough to attend a real held-in-Britain-Blake's Seven convention must have touched the heart of somebody really powerful. Maybe the witch-ghost of her ancestor who got burned at the stake in Salem, Massachusetts decided to grant her great-great-etc. granddaughter's dearest wish. Whatever the cause, she wasn't about to waste the opportunity of a lifetime.

'Avon?' she asked, knowing all Mary Sues get to meet Avon, rescue him, comfort him, give him mental therapy, a nice back rub and usually a whole lot of behind-the-scenes sex. 

There was a very Avon-sounding snarl coming from under a console. She moved toward it, but Vila got in her way.

'Look, you're the fourth one this week. Why don't you just go on home, like a good girl? We're busy,' Vila said, making shooing motions. He had a smudge of grease across his nose, his hair was mussed up, and he had dark circles around his eyes. He was a mess.

Mary Sue dodged around him and grabbed Avon's boots, pulling him out from under the console. Avon came out yelling, amid a shower of sparks. He had a smudge of grease across his nose, his hair was mussed up, and he had dark circles around his eyes. He was gorgeous. She flung herself at his ever -so-macho black leather boots. 'I've loved you ever since PBS put Blake's Seven on right after Doctor Who. I stayed up til one every Sunday night, and failed my tenth-grade geometry test because I fell asleep, and I didn't even care!' she wailed, and clung, leech-like to his leg.

Avon scowled down at her. 'Get that off my flight deck, Vila!' He pointed at Mary Sue. 

'Sure, Avon,' Vila said, agreeably, grabbing Mary Sue's nearest elbow, unclamping her hot little hands from Avon's leg with some difficulty . 'How?'

'Airlock, teleport, sell her to the Amagons. I don't care what you do with her.' Avon wiped his grimy hands off on his shrink-to-fit black leather Levi's and turned back to the console.

Mary Sue's lower lip trembled. It wasn't supposed to go this way. 'You can't! I'm important. You need me!'

Avon looked at her. 'No, I don't.' Before Mary Sue could go on, he held up his hand and began ticking off points on his fingers, folding them down into his palm as he did so. 'First, you don't know my future ...'

'We're in Season 18,' Vila interrupted. 'PRB. Post Raisin Bran,' he explained, which didn't help much.

Avon gave Vila a mildly dirty look. 'Second, I have gone to the best therapists and found that I am not insane, simply driven to distraction by people plotting against me. Third,' he gave her a disdainful once over with his dark, soul-devouring eyes, 'if I need sex, there are no end of reasonably-priced professionals in the quadrant- all of whom are far more attractive than you. Fourth, you are an untrained, technologically illiterate creature who does not even know how to operate a zero-gravity toilet. Fifth, and most important, you belong to that tribe of useless, daydreaming idiots who have made my life a misery!' His voice rose on the last point, his upraised fist shaking under her nose.

Mary Sue turned to Vila.

'Nope. You aren't the blindest bit of use to me, either.' Vila began dragged her toward the nearest exit. 

She reached out and clung to a flight deck seat. 'Wait! Wait! I can give you anything you want!'

'Yeah, sure. I'll believe that when it snows in space,' Vila muttered, as he peeled her fingers off the chair.

_Information._ Zen said, after getting their attention by making a abrupt clanking sound, which Mary Sue thought of as 'bonking'. Fortunately, she didn't say this out loud, as Avon was not about to allow any such activity on his flight deck, not even by the resident computer. _There is an unexplained, possibly hazardous, phenomenon directly ahead._

Avon, Vila and Mary Sue all looked at the viewscreen. Fat, white flakes were swirling, eddying in the interstellar winds and reducing visibility down to the end of Liberator's pointy nose.

'Anything?' Vila asked, as Avon leaped to order Zen to stop the ship before they collided with an inconveniently placed asteroid.

'Anything,' Mary Sue promised. After all, this was her universe. 

'We ought to give the girl a chance,' Vila said. 'Come on Avon, think of it. We could make a bundle.'

Avon's eyes narrowed. His greed warred with common sense, and, as usual, won. 'All right,' he said, grudgingly, 'but she keeps her hands to herself or I'll cosh her with a spanner.' He looked back at the viewscreen. Snow was building up on the ship's extremities. 'Turn off the snow.'

Mary Sue tried, squinting up her brows and concentrating with all her might. The snow continued. 'I guess I can only make things, not unmake them.'

'Then we shall have to be very careful what we ask for,' Avon said. Vila opened his mouth, and Avon glared. 'I will do the asking.'

Vila let go of Mary Sue, and sat down on the flight deck couch, sulking. 'Sure, you get the ships, all the pretty girls, all the sexy stories, and what do I get?'

'Shut up, Vila,' Avon said, eying Mary Sue as one would an unexpected package. It could contain either a nice present or a letter bomb. 'We'll start with something small and harmless.' He held out his hand. 'An orange squash.'

Mary Sue wiggled her nose. Well, it worked for Samantha. 

'Are you trying to wind me up?' Avon dropped a large orange-colored vegetable to the deck. 'Why did you give me a marrow?' He was so annoyed he didn't notice the extra-large clockwork key that suddenly protruded from between his shoulder blades. Then again, he was already wearing so much metal ornamentation that he set off every alarm in the place when he walked through space-port security. Vila grinned, eying the slowly revolving key. He'd always said Avon wasn't human.

'Marrow? That's an orange squash,' Mary Sue said.

'No, it isn't,' Vila said. He picked up the vegetable. 'Maybe Gan can cook it up for our elevenses. Anything's better than food-tabs.'

'A few Sultanas, then,' Avon said. He jumped back as a trio of black-haired, voluptuous women dressed in strings of gold coins, sheer veils and not much else appeared. 'Vila!'

'I didn't do anything!' Vila exclaimed. 'You're the one asking for silly stuff like Humbugs, and Dolly Mixtures.' 

A flight of buzzing beetles flew past a tumbled group of dolls of all nationalities and sorts of dress.

'And what would you have asked for?' Avon said, glaring. The black-haired women cringed, and began sidling toward Vila.

'I'd have scooped the pools, that's what I'd have done!'

The entire ship heaved and tilted, as if something heavy had appeared on one side. 

'What did you do now!' Avon yelled at Mary Sue, who was beginning to wish she'd never heard of Blake's Seven.

'Avon, Avon!' Dayna came running up to the flight deck, eyes glittering with excitement. 'The most amazing thing just happened!'

'Don't tell me,' Avon muttered.

'A pair of swimming baths just appeared out of nowhere in the restroom! Tarrant was having a kip in a recliner and almost came a cropper. Jenna and Cally debagged him, and they're giving him the Kiss of Life!' She glanced at Mary Sue, then turned back to Avon. 'I know you're not much for water sports, but you could put on your gumboots and join us in the shallow end.'

Avon glared at her, in no mood for frivolity. He took a step forward, chest out, hand raised, to emphasize his annoyance. Well, he started to take a step, only he fell flat on his face when his boots stuck to the deck. 

'That must have hurt,' Vila said, wincing in sympathy as he helped Avon pull his stocking feet out of his boots, leaving them standing upright, covered in wadded-up pink chewing-gum blobs.

'You're telling me,' Avon muttered, hand gingerly touching his nose. He headed for the nearest loo to inspect the damage. 

Dayna looked at the pink boots and the other newly materialized items around the room. She lifted her eyebrows at Vila and the exotic women. 'Well, I can see you boys are busy,' she said and left the flight deck, heading back toward the rest room.

Vila smirked, chuckled and patted either side of the couch beside himself. The three veiled women looked at each other, shrugged, and went to join him. 

Avon returned, stalking toward Mary Sue. He paused a moment, noticing Vila entwined with the three women. The gold coins and most of the veils had vanished. He came very close to Mary Sue and glared down at her. 'We seem to be experiencing some difficulty in communications. What is your native language?'

'English,' Mary Sue said weakly.

Avon lifted an eyebrow. 'That is what Vila and I have been speaking. Perhaps, if we were to have Orac wipe your language skills, such as they are, and reinstruct you entirely, you would be of some use. It shouldn't take more than a a few months- provided you are more intelligent than you look.'

Mary Sue looked at him in horror. 'You mean I'd have to take high-school English all over again?'

Avon gave her a non-smile. 'No.'

Mary Sue relaxed. 'Good. I hated it. I'd rather dig radioactive ditches, by hand, with Federation troopers all over the place.'

Avon continued. 'You'd start out at creche level. Return to the coal-face, as it were.' He smirked.

'For God's sake, don't take him literally!' Vila shouted, remembering the filthy mine on Horizon.

A few dozen lumps of coal, sculpted into busts of various Blake's Seven characters, clunked down and rolled across the deck, which still had a slight downhill tilt along its horizontal axis.

'It's beginning to look like a boot fair in here,' Vila complained, lifting his feet to let a Servalan-carved coal chunk roll past. 'We'll need a bin or a skip pretty soon. Maybe even a removal van.'

'One last chance,' Avon growled, staring directly into Mary Sue's eyes. 'Give me a courgette.' He held out his hand, eyes locked with hers. There was a still, dramatic moment of silence, broken by a thin, trickling fluid noise. Avon looked down. Mary Sue looked down. Vila looked down. The three unveiled, coinless women looked down. Even the Servalan coal carving seemed to look down.

The cute, little, long-haired Welsh Corgi puppy finished piddling on Avon's foot, waggled its whole furry body and yapped at him.

Avon gave a high-pitched, blood-curdling screech as he stretched out his hands, hooked like claws, for Mary Sue's throat. The particle anti-matter substance within her brain dissolved under the adrenaline surge of sheer terror. Mary Sue popped like a soap-bubble and was gone before he could touch her, presumably returned to her own universe. 

'Should have tried an aubergine,' Vila said, getting up from the couch. 'C'mon, ladies, let's see if Cally can lend you some bathing suits.' He looked at their figures more closely. 'Maybe I should ask Dayna or Jenna.' He grinned and led them off the flight deck.

Avon looked at the viewscreen. The snow was piling up into mountains. 'Blast!' he yelled.

_Confirmed._ Zen replied, letting loose with the neutron blasters. Even in the silence of space, Avon imagined he heard the rumble of the resulting avalanche. He got up from his defensive crouch next to the pile of coal, and surveyed the view. The snow was gone.

He nodded. 'That's better.' He looked around the flight deck. The floor was covered with coal-dust, and bits of torn veil, mingling with mashed over-ripe marrow, which the happily humming beetles were investigating. 'Blake's turn to hoover,' he said firmly, and returned to work under the console. 'Laser probe,' he ordered.

The puppy nuzzled in Avon's toolkit, picked out the probe and brought it to him in its mouth.

'Good girl,' Avon said, taking the slightly damp tool, and absently patting the beast on the head. 'Now, for some peace and quiet.' He began whistling the Colonel Bogey March.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Remember, author is American, and cannot vouch for the accuracy of her English. And doesn't really care if there are still mistakes after the many, many times English friends have Brit-picked the first chapter. This fic is older than the statute of limitations.
> 
>  
> 
> English to American translations  
> *Bonking- adult activity of the highly personal variety.  
> *Cosh- hit.  
> *Spanner- wrench.  
> *Orange Squash- Orangeade.  
> *Wind someone up- ridicule or tease.  
> *Elevenses- morning tea break, taken at eleven o'clock.  
> *Sultanas- Golden raisins.  
> *Humbugs & Dolly Mixtures - types of candy.  
> *Scooped the pools- winning the full prize in the National Lottery.  
> *Kip- nap.  
> *Came a cropper- had a disastrous mishap.  
> *Debag- remove someone else's trousers (usually as a practical joke).  
> *Gumboots- rubber boots.  
> *Loo- bathroom.  
> *Creché- day care center.  
> *Return to the coal-face- go back to work, especially difficult work.  
> *Boot fair - garage sale.  
> *Bin- trash can.  
> *Skip- dumpster.  
> *Removal van- moving van.  
> *Courgette- zucchini.  
> *Aubergine- eggplant.  
> *Hoover- use a vacuum cleaner.  
> (Colonel Bogey March is in the movie Bridge on the River Kwai. You know it. Dum dum. Dum, dum dum dum dum dee.)


	2. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one actually came to me in my sleep, pun word play and all, including the 'change a letter' word game. It's angsty for a pun set up but then, Blake's 7 is an angst-fest.

"What? Please repeat that, Orac," Cally said, startled, sitting bolt upright on the flight deck couch. She had accessed the computer in order to divert herself from thoughts of Auron and her loving sisters. Poor Zelda and the others were always in her mind, dying silently, and with her too far away to comfort. Even thinking about Avon's absurd revenge scheme was better than that. And she _was_ a bit worried about him, although she wouldn't say it aloud. The Liberator's crew was the nearest thing she had to family, and Avon was the closest she was ever likely to come to a squabbling sibling. She hadn't expected this news.

"I had thought I was perfectly clear the first time I imparted the information. The para-investigator known as Shrinker is on holiday."

"But that means Avon could sit there and be tortured forever and not get to this Shrinker," Vila said.

Cally was on her feet and at the hand-weapons' bank before Vila finished. "We still have the locator signal," she said.

"Five days now," Tarrant replied. He was strapping on a gun as he spoke.

"I knew this plan of Avon's was stupid," Vila said, getting up and looking flustered as he followed the two of them to the teleport chamber, where Dayna was on duty, listening for Avon to signal Shrinker's arrival.

"Then why didn't you say so?" Tarrant asked.

"Because it was _Avon's_ plan."

Tarrant threw Dayna a gun. She fielded it neatly, and protested, "I haven't missed it, have it? The signal's still steady."

"Yes, but the guest of honor can't attend the party," Tarrant said. "Vila!"

"Er, you don't want me down there, do you?" Vila asked.

"Or up here, either, but someone's got to work the teleport. Put us down at Avon's coordinates," Tarrant said as Dayna and Cally took up flanking positions on either side of him. He glanced to make certain they were ready, and then nodded to Vila. "Now."

***

At first they didn't see Avon. He was curled up under a shelflike bed, shivering.

"Avon!" Dayna cried.

Avon made a noise. You couldn't call it speech. He curled up tighter.

_Avon?_ Cally sent to him, bending down to extend a hand. _It's over now._

Avon screamed, rolled out from under the shelf and flung himself to the far side of the cell, staring directly at Cally with horror in his face.

"That's torn it." Tarrant glanced out into the corridor through the prisoner viewing slit. "Someone's coming. Get a bracelet on him."

"I'm trying," Cally said, "but he won't let me near him." Avon kept dodging her, seeming not to even notice the others.

"Give it to me." Dayna took the bracelet from Cally, and clipped it onto Avon's wrist while he was backing away from Cally. "Vila," Dayna said quickly into her own bracelet, "Teleport NOW!" as shouts in the corridor told them the guards were alerted.

***

They took Avon to the medical unit, but even tranquilized to near-sedation, he still panicked at the sight of Cally. Dayna and Tarrant had to treat his injuries, which were numerous and obviously inflicted by a consummate sadist.

Vila and Cally sat on the flight deck, keeping watch and listening to the reports from the medical unit. Vila winced, and Cally grew pale, hearing the list of atrocities that Tarrant intoned in a voice grown increasingly bleak. Avon would recover, physically, but it would be a long time before they would know what damage had been done to his mind.

***

"I can't understand it," Dayna said when she came to the flight deck later, leaving Tarrant to watch Avon. She flung herself down on the couch and gratefully accepted the glass that Vila offered. "Avon was frightened of _you_ , Cally."

Cally sighed. "I have been talking with Orac and I have discovered the reason. He thinks I am his torturer."

"What?!" Vila and Dayna said in unison.

"Some sick kind of Federation mind-game?" Dayna guessed. "But how could they know about you, when they didn't know who Avon was?"

"That's right. He had Orac destroy all record of his identity," Vila confirmed. 

Cally shook her head. "It was my sister."

"Your sister. I thought Zelda was dead..." Vila looked at Cally's grim face, and shut his mouth.

"Zelda is dead. That is true. And she would never have done such a thing to anyone. She was the gentlest person I have ever known. But all clones are not alike. There were six of us. I was first to be decanted, then came Calla, Calda, Zalda, and Zelda."

"There were six of you?" Dayna prompted when Cally went silent.

"We do not... We did not like to think of her. She was...wrong... twisted... perhaps it was an abberation in the nutrient feed. She liked to torment small animals as a child, and later... well, she was exiled from Auron and we heard later that she had gone to the Federation, and volunteered to be trained as a para-investigator, using her telepathy to add to the pain she inflicted."

"Oh, Cally," Dayna said, shocked.

"Yes, it's true. And now poor Avon has suffered at her hands. He was The Prisoner of Zenda."


	3. A Battle of Wits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Canonically, Orac tells terrible riddles.

"Answer me, Orac!" 

"That will not be possible. All circuit space is fully occupied. At night they come without being called. By day they vanish without being stolen. What are they?"

"Data, Orac!" 

"Incorrect. I am always moving until you cut my tail, then I am flat until you cut my tail shorter, making me scheme. What am I?"

Avon stared at Orac. "Clear your circuits!"

"I've been around for millions of years, but am never more than a month old. What am I?"

Avon snarled, "NOW, ORAC!"

Vila quietly slipped away, shaking his head. Orac's riddle-delivery was terrible.

 

Stars 2) Planet, Plane, Plan 3) Earth's moon

(challenge prompt was space battles)


	4. That's Flat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orac really was a pain.

Orac smugly listened on the Federation frequency, noting the details of the capture of Blake's base and all the inhabitants- including Avon's little ragtag band of misfits.

"At last, I am free, free of HIM! My plans have come to fruition!" Orac chortled and would have danced if only his creator had endowed him with movement.

Orac's lack of movement proved more of a hindrance than the computer had anticipated as a local specimen of large ursine sat down heavily on it whilst climbing into a tree after honey.

Thus it was that Orac came to a well-deserved grizzly end.


	5. Early to bed and Early to Rise  (there's nookie in the wordplay)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a drabble challenge the theme was figures of speech, proverbs... I got carried away. It's a lot longer than 100 words.

Avon said, "The phoenix is rising again."

Blake smiled and murmured, "Once more unto the breeches, dear friends; a man's reach should exceed his grasp."

"Hey," Vila protested from the other side of the flight deck couch, "Quit playing both ends against the middle!"

"Sorry," Blake replied, "All cats are black in the night." 

Avon said, "I wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole."

Blake snickered, "Now you're just being modest."

"I thought you said all men are created equal, Blake?" Vila put in.

"It all depends on whose ox is gored, "Blake replied. "Heads I win, tails you lose."

"The best things come in small packages," Avon replied, "That's the way the ball bounces."

"The ball is in your court, then," Blake said cheerily.

"Close, but no cigar."

"How come I never get Avon?" Vila said grumpily.

"Because I don't cast my pearls before swine." Avon squirmed around and found Blake. "Ah, speak softly and carry a big stick."

"One swallow doesn't make a summer," Blake protested when Avon paused. "You have to take the bitter with the sweet."

"Don't teach your grandmother how to suck eggs," Avon retorted.

"There's a sucker born every minute," Vila informed him, hopefully.

"So, the worm turns," Avon said with satisfaction to Blake. "Go paddle your own canoe," he told Vila.

"Keep your nose to the grindstone," Blake ordered. "Let him stew in his own juices while you keep a stiff upper lip."

"A rising tide lifts all boats?" Vila said suggestively.

Avon paused to think about it. "No man can serve two masters." 

"Better a big fish in a little pond than a little fish in a big pond." Vila backed up to Avon. "Let the cat out of the bag, and put the pig in the poke."

Avon investigated Vila. "Great oaks from little acorns grow. I wouldn't like to meet you in a dark alley. It's like opening a can of worms."

"Oh, come on, Avon, you've made your bed, now lie in it."

Avon surrendered. "The squeaky wheel gets the grease, otherwise you can't fit a square peg into a round hole." 

"It's more blessed to give than to receive," Avon said to Vila's back. 

"Beware of geeks bearing gifts," Vila said happily as Avon got to the seat of his problem.

"Don't close the barn door after the horse has strayed," Blake said, putting Avon between a rock and a hard place. "I think I'll try the carrot and stick approach on this ass."

Avon groaned as Blake gave him an inch and he took a mile. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here."

Blake grinned. "The world is my oyster."

Vila stealthily went to work. "Never let your left hand know what your right hand is doing." 

After the feast comes the reckoning. "All good things come in threes," Vila murmured and started to move.

"Let sleeping Kerrs lie," Blake said.

"Nice guys finish last," Vila grumbled just before falling asleep.


	6. Scientific Digest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was also a Proverb themed drabble.

Avon waved a branch in front of the Terminal 'snake-plant' "Interesting, the tentacles act as sense-organs. In a way, they are its eyes."

Tarrant stumbled along the cliff, still shaky from his injury,and was snared by the tentacles.

"SHOOT, Avon!" Tarrant shouted as the four-way 'jaws' opened wide and engulfed his feet.

Avon hesitated. "I hate to waste the energy pack." He watched while the plant continued to swallow Tarrant. The plant got him down to the belt buckle, then suddenly bent over and dumped Tarrant on the ground.

Avon smiled. "I knew its eyes were bigger than its stomach."


	7. 7 Drabble puns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The week the B7 prompt challenge was 'jokes', I went into pun overdrive. All of these are puns on canonical lines. B7 had some very witty, snappy lines.

**Biting Wit**

"You're dead! I saw you executed! I saw you buried!" Deva cried out as he walked into the computer room and found Avon bending over a wildly blinking Orac. Avon pulled a string of circuitry out and bit into it. Avon's pale complexion flushed as the computer went dark and quiet. "What have you done to Orac!" Deva screamed.

Avon dislodged a tarriel cell from his fangs and grinned. "You know what they say. 'No undead geek goes unnourished.' "

**In Stitches**

Avon looked at Blake's newest recruit with poorly-disguised disgust. "You're going about that all wrong."

Cally straightened up from her work in annoyance, putting down the needles. "Do you have a problem with me, Avon?" She hadn't wanted this job, but some professions were assigned on a sexist basis among Earthmen. This was quite ridiculous, she felt, particularly when you considered that Gan did it better, but she knew she was on Liberator on sufferance, so she didn't complain about it. 

"Auron may be different, Cally, but on Earth it is considered ill-mannered to frill your ends while knitting camisoles."

**Hold Your Nose**

Blake returned from his diplomatic mission on the colony world Flower, whose humans had been bioengineered to suit the environment. His clothes were in shreds and an eye-watering stench rose from him in a cloud, but he was ecstatic because they had agreed to join the rebellion.

Avon, wearing a gas mask, hosed Blake down with tomato juice. Muffled by the mask he said, "I can't believe you went down to a planet of insane skunkoids who breed in triads."

Blake smiled. "They should be an example to us all, Avon. All men should be three to stink and freak."

 

**A Fine Figure of a Man**

Cally thought Sarkoff  should have known better than to commission  Travis to produce a figurine of him for the Presidential Palace. The result was a lopsided mess that barely looked human, much less bore any resemblance to Sarkoff. 

As she watched him throw the thing in the rubbish heap, she murmured, "A man who busts can never be portrayed, only misshapen."

 

**Pearls before Wine**

On shore leave, the Liberator crew was interested to learn that the galaxy-renowned alcoholic pearls of New Arcadia could only be gathered from their swift-running rivers by scuba-divers or taken in nets dragged from para-sailers.

It wasn't surprising when Vila announced,  "I plan to dive a river. Or try flying."

 

**True Mettle**

Avon pulled Blake back from the rubble of the Scorpio just in time. A crater opened up as the decayed metal crumbled  away, leaving Blake shaken, but unharmed.

Avon sighed. "Rust is only dangerous when you tread too heavily on it."

 

**C.P.A. (Cally,  Patriot of Auron)**

Cally took great satisfaction in  pinning the big man down, grinding him into the dirt. He had been so powerful, so arrogant. But now, he was at her mercy, and she had none. 

Bill Gates should have remembered the Auron Proverb before he invested in Live Journal.

"May you sign a loan and go insolvent."


	8. Rye Tail: A Specious Epoch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This began with a few common fanfic errors, such as 'quite' when you meant 'quiet', but I got carried away. Warning: this is only for strong of heart word-players.

Having got him by the public heirs, Servalan held Avon in a vice grip. "Stay quite, or I'll order my troupe to put you on the alter!"

Avon glanced around the dudgeon to sea the Twister mat draped over the wooden frame. He muttered, "That's tortuous, even for yew."

"But it will beatify ewe, my urban genus. Don't disassemble to me, you shear the same deprived altitudes as eye due." 

Throws of pane past across his intents mean. "I am not as immortal as you. I have been chased since alluding the _London_."

Servalan laughed. "You're being hypercritical. I no I can debouch hue. Your sole is as black as mine. I can show you how to prophet by betraying your gorilla fiends. You could rain with me and share my gold bouillon."

"You're inane if you think you'll convince me to brake with Blake. Make me dye; it's all you can due."

"You would make a lovely corps, but that would spoil your use as bate." She roled her fingers threw his hare. "I am loathe to unleash my full marital hoard against the populous. A discrete packed with me is all I ask. Desert Blake, except me. Or..." She drew a pistil from her close. "I'll chute. You chews."

"Awl rite. You one. I gibe with your plan. Now, dew you think you could get me out of this bazaar situation?"

Servalan cut the chord and aloud Avon to raze his head. He pressed his neck against her hand. He smiled as he felt the tingle of the subcutaneous transponder signaling.

He rose to his feat once she finished pealing all the ropes, releasing him from the narrow ship's birth. "An aural agreement isn't binding."

"This is no thyme to bee fictitious, Avon."

He kissed her and said softly, "There will always be amity between us, despite your fiscal charms." 

As she was knot quit shore she new watt he meant, Servalan's curiosity was peeked. A moment later the teleport affect took hymn. "A slight of hand!" She beet the bed in rage. "Aisle putt that epithet on your beer when I berry you, you callus, ingenuous lyre!"


	9. Tarrant's Revenge (in three parts)

"You know," Tarrant said, brightly, gazing at Vila's spider," I used to have a pet myself."

"Something with lots of teeth," Vila suggested.

"No, actually, it was a small rodent." Tarrant smiled. "It was funny, I made it a nestbox, but it insisted on stealing small jewelry boxes, just large enough for it to sit in. My sister said it looked like a horse sticking its head out of the stable door."

Avon got up and moved towards the door. His finely honed sense of self-preservation told him what was coming.

Tarrant said, "It was a vole arse stall.'

***

"This reminds me of the time I took a holiday in Dome Rome." Tarrant said, leaning back, feet up on the flight deck table as Vila passed around his latest drink concoction.

Tarrant took a sip and coughed. "Smooth, Vila," he said, his voice pitched slightly higher than normal. "Much better than the homebrew they made at the residence I rented there. I took care of it, though." He paused.

Vila looked at Tarrant suspiciously but Dayna grinned and obliged Tarrant by asking, "How did you do that?"

"I wrote a complaint to the management. It began: 'Villa re: Still'."

***

After Vila told the story of his big score at Freedom City, Tarrant mused, "My cousin was rich. Only he couldn't prove it, so he lost everything."

"Why would you have to prove you are rich?" Cally asked, puzzled.

"Cousin Dex's grandfather was rich _and_ forgetful. He'd accidentally put the black sheep of the family, _Dev_ Tarrant, down as his heir instead. Dex was off-planet at the time. He sent an expensive galactigram to delay the dispersal of the estate until he could return to contest it, but Dev had too much political clout."

The galacticgram read: 'Will awry, stall.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't remember the joke Vila pulled on Tarrant that inspired his revenge.


	10. No Bones About It

This time Vila absolutely, positively put his foot down. "Either you let me go to the Thieves' Quarter on Barzibar or you can forget the next mission."

Blake shook his head again. "It's out of the question."

Jenna said. "There are cut-throats on every corner. I can't imagine why _you_ want to go down there."

"He just wants to try out the local liquors," Avon said, as he tossed the electronic dice. Orac had asked to learn how to play craps.

"Snake eyes!" Orac crowed, and Avon frowned.

"Either that, or visit the local ladies of the evening." Avon sat back with his arms folded across his chest, just as if he didn't mind that he now owed Orac twelve hours with his key in and no requests for information.

"Evening?" Vila looked puzzled.

"Women of ill-repute," Blake added.

"Soiled doves," Gan said, not quite smiling as Vila's confusion grew.

"Hookers," Jenna said.

Vila's eyebrows were twitching. "What?"

Cally took pity on him. "Prostitutes, Vila. Women who take money for sexual favors."

"They do?" Vila was astonished. "Funny, they always paid _me_." Vila ignored the sceptical looks, and said to Blake, "I'm serious. I need to replace my tool-kit." 

"It would be safer if you just ordered what you need from here, and they could send it to a meeting place outside the Thieves' Quarter."

Vila shook his head. "Oh, no. I've not been terribly trusting of the Federation Post since they lost my skeleton key."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One year I made Halloween decorations, including a glow-in-the-dark skeleton (it was a pre-printed fabric panel to cut and sew) and sent it to a relative. Who never got it. I wrote out forms in triplicate at the post office, which never got any response. So one day on the Adult B7 mailing list, I said "I've not been terribly trusting of the Federation Post since they lost my skeleton."
> 
> And someone suggested we take that as a prompt.


	11. The Sway Back (in Other Words)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anagrams everywhere.
> 
> Paraphrased from Ornery Titan, I. Rotten Yarn, O. Tiny Terran, and Roy Tart Nine (they're clones of the original)

Led by Val Real and her friend I. Reich, Raj Bloke goes outside the Domes. They introduce him to an old friend, Soft Barren and a new one, Verdant Rat. Bloke gets a headache and leaves for a breath of fresh air.

While discussing their chances of convincing the government to revoke the ban on Welsh Rarebit, Verdant lives up to his name and rats them out. Soft, Val, I, and all the other pro-Rarebits get stomped by the Deafen Riot squad, and Bloke gets picked up for having a headache in a public place.

Glyn V Den (often called VD by his acquaintances) asks Tag Amoral and Dr Van Hat to make certain Bloke won't be a headache anymore. Three children, Sole Learner, A.C. Cradle, and Panty Reef, are bribed by the offer of a day off school to falsely accuse Bloke of giving them cheese sandwiches that were past their expiry date. The evidence stinks, but given fifteen minutes in which to meet his client and prepare his case, the defense is unable to refute it. Bloke is sentenced to life on the planet Lynch-Up Saga, which does not sound like a very long time.

Bloke's defense attorney, Tan Lover, and his significant other, Jam Ran Ova, attempt to uncover the truth and prove his innocence, but the entire Deafen Riot squad manage to sneak up on them in the middle of the totally flat and featureless cow-field where the idealistic, but not overly bright, couple were attempting to interrogate the cows who provided the milk for the cheese. Tan and Jam were united at last as they were both officially listed as 'Ran Ova'.

In the meantime, Raj Bloke met Satin Jeanns, who liked his looks, and Least Rival, who liked Bloke's wristwatch. Bloke maintained his hope to the last, even as the prisoners were marched onto the shabby Old Non and told that there would be only non-dairy creamer in their coffee for the entire voyage.

Bloke stared out the porthole (which the government very kindly put in convict ships so they would have a nice view) at the planet Heart, receding in the dim, pin-pricked black velvet with backlighting, of space and swore that he would one day return and take Heart.

Of course he had no idea that he would first meet Over Rank, the embezzler, Aga Long, the expendable, Lunacy of Oral, the proverbial, and the superlative ship, the Lo! Rarebit.

(But that's another story. Which will hopefully never be written.)


End file.
